At last, the last!

Well, I’ll get on with the last bit of my travel tale, although I’ll admit that it’s been so long in the telling I’m in danger of forgetting what the hell I did.

So I got back from Paris and headed home to re-pack and finish some odd tasks. It took me a bit longer than expected (but then doesn’t everything?) so I set out for Victoria a bit late, but managed to wrangle my way onto a bus leaving right there and then for Ringwood, in the New Forest.

I was going to visit a childhood friend of my mother’s, Ann who lives in the forest itself. It was a pleasant journey to Ringwood – the coach was nearly empty and I had plenty of space to stretch out, listen to mp3’s, read a book and watch the countryside go by.

Most of the time I spend with Ann was joyfully domestic in its way. Ann had come to stay with my family in South Africa some years ago, and it was good to see her again. She lives alone in quite a large house, teaches german part-time and ladles attention on her pets, especially Theo, the dog. It was lovely to visit her, I was so well looked after and we realised that we share a few more interests in common than expected.

We went for walks in the forest with Theo, took a drive through all the little New Forest towns. We also went down to the coast and took a walk along the boardwalk and had ice-cream at the beach – despite the weather being a little chilly. Ann fed me lovely breakfasts and suppers, she even packed me a lunch for my bus trip home!

I was sad to have to leave so soon, but glad that I’d finally managed to find a few days to relax. I left Ringwood on the Friday afternoon, specially timed that I’d make it back for my last session of Jitsu.

I was sad to say good-bye to everyone, and I’ve promised I’ll be back – someday. The next morning I was up early to pack, dashed down to Tooting to visit a friend, Claire, for her birthday, then dashed back. Alex met up with me and LaLa took us to Victoria to catch the express. Thank goodness for their help, since I had far to much luggage, and I would have been completely unable to manage it myself. Even Alex and I would have had trouble getting it through the tubes.

All worked out fine. I battered my eyelashes and managed to get a reduced charge for my excess baggage (and little did they know that Alex was round the corner with another 10 kilo’s of hand luggage..) We had a farewell drink and I boarded the plane for South Africa.

At the other end, swearing I’ll never fly Nationwide long distance again, I managed to find all my luggage and, eventually, Grant who’d kindly come to fetch me too.

It was great to be home, although I was feeling a little at a loss due to the fact that my organisational skills had vanished in the last few months I was in the UK and also Johannesburg is impossible without a car. This was not improved by the fact that I had managed to catch Claire’s cold / flu in the brief time I’d spent with her, so I pretty much hermitted myself away till I flew down to Cape Town a couple of days later.

And so there pretty much ends my recount. No more of the long winded “What I did on my holiday” type essay that most of us had to suffer writing at the beginning of school terms.

Things are still somewhat up in the air with my life. I’ve decided that for a variety of reason I’m not going to take the position in Cape Town as a full time job. However, I have said that if they’re amenable I’ll sign a three month contract – providing I don’t find a permanent position some time in this week. I’ve yet to hear if they’re amenable though. I’ve heard nothing from Monday’s interview. I’ve got an agent trying to put me forward for an utterly fantastic position, but she’d apparently having trouble pinning the client down. I’ve also got an interview with a company here for a three month contract, which sounds relatively fun, and is either offering too little, or a bit of a fortune depending on whether the money offered is for the whole period or per month.

I am pleased that my shipment from the UK has arrived, so at least I’ve got some more of my stuff! Stuff good! I’m figuring out methods to market myself in the new year if I land up in a contract till then. Otherwise I’m just really enjoying being back in Joburg with my freedom. Driving again is so much fun!

Also I’m trying to get Davis to actually tell me where TJF ZA trains. I managed to get times out of him when I emailed and said I was up in the province and free to come through, however he cunningly failed to give me the location. Arg. Pretoria is a fair-sized city and hence I can’t just drive round it asking random strangers “Excuse me, but do you know where I might find South Africa’s newest Jujitsu club?”

Part 3 (and more!)

So right, I’d left off my most recent tale of personal stupidity: missing my flight to Barcelona.

Well, having bought a new ticket my plan landed in Barcelona early on Saturday afternoon and I found the apartment I was ‘borrowing’ without too much trouble. It was deep in the gothic quarters and cute in an archaic Mediterranean fashion. I was very glad I would be sleeping alone since I have never hear a bed protest so much!

Having dropped my stuff I proceeded to explore. I first took a walk up to the hub of the gothic quarters and decided to go into a cathedral there, which was amazing! However, what I hadn’t realised was it was the La Seu Cathedral (famed from many a post card) until I exited and walked round the side of it and finally saw it from the front!

The streets of Barcelona are beautiful, and I just walked through them marvelling. I eventually made my way down Las Ramblas and walked along there for a while. Along the way I found a local supermarket. Now I have a strange love of going into supermarkets in different countries – it gives a far great insight into what cultures consume, what they eat, plus as a designer I love looking at different packaging and I like buying brands that I’ve never seen before.

From there I then stumbled onto the fresh produce market, which was sensory feast in every way. I’ve never seen such fabulous fruit displayed so enticingly – although it was almost so perfect you wouldn’t have wanted to buy any for fear of ruining the display. The seafood was unbelievable, although I felt a little sorry for the critters still snapping their claws. The meat was impressive, but a little grim, and being a touch squeamish I avoided trying to identify the ‘bits’, and the skinless heads, and staring eyes were even more unpleasant. There was also veggies, spices, dried fruits and nuts, juices and cheeses (mmm…cheese!) I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t even bring myself to choose something to buy, so I left with just a photo or two.

From there I went back to the apartment with my now aching feet. However, during my rest I had the cunning to check my flight details to Paris, which I had though was for the next afternoon. How wrong, I was! My flight was for the Sunday morning, giving me less that 24hrs in Barcelona!

I was (understandably I think) a little upset by this, especially since I’m a huge fan of Gaudi’s and I hadn’t even got to see any of his buildings by that late hour, having planned to use the Sunday morning to view them. A quick check of my guide book revealed that the only site open late enough for time to decently appreciate was Park Guell, which I set out for post-haste. A hasty 1.5km charge and I was at the park before sunset. It was truly spectacular, and fantastic to see how Gaudi’s organic architecture complemented both the plants and the greater landscapes of Barcelona. (I’m starting to think now I might need to create a gallery…)

The next morning, after having had the experience of dining alone in the middle of a crowded formal restaurant, and being chewed out by an anal retentive traffic cop who spoke only Catalonian, I took a final walk around Barcelona appreciating the quiet of an early Sunday morning.

The flight to Paris was pleasant and devoid of the rushed stress of my prior journeys. I arrived in good time, to bad weather, still nursing my disappointment at having to leave Barcelona so soon.

I’d purchased a two day travel pass for the Monday and Tuesday which I paid through the nose for, but it was for all the zones, not just the 1 to 3 I wanted to travel in, but I’d failed to specify that and this was Paris. Paris probably needs tourists, but it doesn’t mean the French feel any need to be nice to them, especially if they speak English. It being the Sunday though I decided just to buy a ticket to Chauteu des Hallet and walk to my hotel which didn’t seem too far off.

Well, it was further than I thought and the walk was a bit uninspiring. I was staying near Republic, which was useful, but there was very little special about the area. In fact, compared to what I’d left, and even central London, it was dull and unattractive. The only thing that really made me happy was that there was a local supermarket less than 30 meters from the hotel!

Okay, maybe that’s just my prejudice against the French, but nowhere else have I been made to feel that speaking English is a shame and I was therefore somewhat of a pariah. And I did attempt to say things in French, however my pronunciation needs more than a little work and my grammar was probably criminal. Oh, well.

Unfortunately the weather remained glum for my entire stay in Paris, and the tiny (mostly ignored) soul of a photographer that I possess wept at the awful lighting.

On the Monday I went to the Louvre (Yes, I saw the Mona Lisa, yes, it is somewhat over-hyped) which was fantastic. I walked on to Notre Dame which they’ve cleaned, so it’s frothy and cream rather than darkly sooty. Somehow this just doesn’t work for me, gothic cathedrals should be, well, gothic. The French are busy ‘restoring’ a hell of a lot of their buildings, and bridges, and it’s all wrong to me. Old buildings should look like that, old! How else are you supposed to spot that they’re the real deal and not some ‘period-style’ building? Oh, well, it’s their city I guess, they can ‘restore’ all the buildings that want to.

I walked around a little of left bank, which was cute but quiet and then headed back to the hotel. In the evening I went to the Pompidour Centre for Modern Art. It was really cool, and such an odd building. I didn’t like it at first, but after it got dark and it was lit up, it looked amazing – a Japanese space-aged box in metal and glass.

On the Tuesday I did a bit of shopping and ran into a fellow group of South Africans (you have no idea what a relief it was to hear people speaking English with such a familiar accent) who I chatted to for a bit; and then kept running into for the next couple of hours.

The highlight of the trip was going to the Eiffel tower that evening. I’d decided not to visit it during the day, since I had a sense that I’d be disappointed. Plus I’m always one for lights, the more lights the happier I am (err, ish) and the Eiffel tower is really just one MF’er of a Christmas tree. It was actually fantastic. So gorgeous by night, and what I hadn’t realised was that at 9pm the real show starts! They turn on the flashing lights, only for ten minutes mind, but it’s an amazing thing to see. Wonderful!

The next day I returned to London, relieved to no longer have to deal with Europeans with no respect for ‘no smoking’ signs in airport, and overwhelmingly grateful to be somewhere that I could understand and speak the local language!

That afternoon I was to catch a bus to the New Forest – however I’ll leave that final short bit for later.

At the moment I’m getting prepared to leave Cape Town once more. I’m driving up to Johannesburg tomorrow morning. As always I’m sad to leave my parents, but at the same time I’m excited about being back in Joburg.

Cape Town is magnificently beautiful, but the people here are a little cliquey and with the result it’s hard to meet people and make new friends. I’ve got a fair number of great friends here, but many of them have left and a lot more are in the process of going too. The social groups I was a part of in my student years are broken and the result is that I occasionally feel that I’m a bit of a ghost coming back to haunt the relics of my past.

And to top it all off I’ve been practically offered a rather good job here. The money’s good, and were I a patient sort of person the position would be excellent. I could work there for a year or two, get a really great solid portfolio of work behind me. Then move on, join a bigger agency, earn a bucket as a senior designer, and in a decade or so I’d be the creative director, running my own studio, terrorising the juniors.

However, I’m not patient, and that’s not really where I want to be in the long term – or that is I don’t think that’s where I want to be in the long term. Why don’t I have any friends I could fob this excellent opportunity off on?

Plus the jujitsu classes down here scare me a little.

Ah, well, I’ve got a weekend to make up my mind in, so I guess I’m going to make the best of it. We’ll see come Monday what conclusion I’ve come to.

On with the tales of my holiday…

Right, so I left the lake district on Sunday afternoon, sad to go, and even sadder to know that it will be a long time before I see any of the great people I met again. If ever. I caught a train to Edinburgh, a pleasant journey, and arrived in good time. With the help of a random stranger – who spotted the fact I was looking slightly confused – I managed to find my hostel.

In a fit of sheer genius I’d booked myself into a double with en-suite, absolute bliss after a weekend of communal dorms and shower rooms that stank. The weather in Edinburgh was lovely, and it was a gorgeous evening so I took a walk up the Royal Mile, half looking for the location of fabled firework show that was to happen later.

Edinburgh (well, the old part of it) is probably one of the loveliest cities I’ve been in. I knew very little about the place and it was magic to walk around ‘discovering’ all these beautiful buildings and views. I eventually found a flow of people, and then the flow of people petered out and there was a queue. So assuming this was a queue for the fireworks I joined it.

After standing there for five minutes I realised that, despite my conviction that I’m a Saffa through and through, I had just done the most English thing I could humanly conceive of doing (okay, maybe if I’d had a thermos of tea to keep me company that would have been one step further…) I had to share this so rang LaLa and spend the next while chatting to her, long enough for me to get to the end of the queue where I realised that, yes, it was for the fireworks, but it was for ticketed access to the Princess Street Gardens. Giggling to myself I climbed over a few booms and joined the rabble in Princess Street.

Time wore on and the hour for the fireworks came about. I’d managed to find myself a very good viewing spot, and the show was amazing. A co-ordinated show of hundreds and hundreds of fireworks set to the classical music piping up from the gardens below. The Castle looked like the scene of a battle during the lulls wreathed in smoke and lit up red. The final bang was such a massive explosion that standing a few hundred meters below it I could feel the heat and the pressure from it as it hit my face. It even set off a number of alarms in the shops in the area, and their wail cleared the street faster than the end of the spectacle and growing cold could have.

The next morning dawned, umm, dull and early. I had a three day bus tour of Scotland and Skye booked and I needed to be at the pick-up location at 8am. Fortunately that was 20 meters from the hostel.

The Haggis tour was good fun, but exhausting in it’s way. Hours and hours of sitting on a bus watching the country-side go by. The first day was sunny, the second gloomy and the third wet, so I guess I got to see Scotland in all the appropriate states. The heather was also in bloom, which was pretty, but all it served to do was set up a comparison to the Cape for me (since we’ve got a lot of heather, and a broader variety of kinds). I was home-sick already, and as lovely as the Highlands are, they’re not a patch on the Cape. At least our tour guide was interesting and he livened up the passing miles with anecdotes, history and personal observations.

Retuning to Edinburgh, a group of us from the tour had dinner followed by the best ice-cream sundae I’ve had in recent memory. When next in Edinburgh I thoroughly recommend going to the Bella Italia on the Royal Mile and having a ‘Godfather’ sundae (and ask for vanilla ice-cream instead of the cream!)

Anyway, the next day was a flurry of stress as I tried to get some shopping done for my gran, despite needing to be at the airport around 1, and being somewhat paranoid about missing flights. I’m the sort of person who if they recommend you’re there two hours before the flight, I like to set out allowing myself a further half hour ahead in case something goes wrong. I did succeed all round though and set out for the airport with a nice tartan blanket for granny in Buchanan colours.

I arrived back in London with a nightmare ahead of me. I had failed to calculate how long getting out of Stanstead and back home would take and arrived with less than an hour before I absolutely had to set off for Gatwick to make my flight to Barcelona that evening. To complicate things, I had yet to move out of my room, and the girl replacing me was moving in on the Sunday while I was gone, so I had to clear my stuff out before I left for the continent.

With a little help from a housemate I managed to clear my stuff out, re-pack my bag and I dashed out the door. I recall forgetting something and having to charge back for it, however it was only when I got to Victoria station, was seated on the Gatwick express (having missed the one I really needed to catch by a minute) contemplating if I’d make it to the EasyJet check in counter before it closed and feeling a little queasy about how exceedingly slim that possibility was that I realised that I’d managed to leave the keys to the apartment in Barcelona that I was borrowing in a bag at home.

Fortunately the Gatwick Express gives refunds. Unfortunately EasyJet does not. Fortunately I’d remember about the keys before I’d really gone anywhere. (Images of me arriving exhausted in Barcelona only to realise I had nowhere to stay left me exceedingly pleased that that had not happened!) Unfortunately the cheapest flight I could get for Barcelona was on Saturday morning giving me less than 24 hours in Barcelona and cost me more than a hundred pounds. However, overall I wasn’t totally disheartened. Missing my flight gave me time to calm down, clean my vacated room, sort the tip of stuff I’d left in the spare room, de-stress and I even got to go to Jitsu on the Friday night!

So enough of the holiday journal and back to present reality: I’ve bought myself a car, well, got dad to finance me a car that is, it’s a nice not-so-little Daewoo. It’s a bit old, but the mileage is low and it’s been well serviced. I suspect it’s somewhat of a gass-guzzler, but I’ve only put in a full tank last night so I’ll have to watch how fast I go through that.

The job offers have not been knocking down the door, but I’ve only been to see one agency since I’ve got back. At least they’ve been pleasant, positive and enthusiastic by appearances - you never really can tell with recruiters as being all of the above is part of the job description, but at least it’s better than the London agencies who tried hard to pretend I didn’t exist. I’m not keen on staying in Cape Town, but I’m also not going to turn down a great opportunity because of the location at this point.

A new begining.

Well, all, welcome to the new home for my collection of rants and recollections. Whilst the CLAWsWiki has served faithfully for years, the era when the majority of people who I wanted to keep in contact with were members of that list is long since gone and with the recent almost two months of down-time on the site (and counting) I felt now was time for a change. So with that I will get on with the account of my recent travels:

While I was a fool to think that all my stress would end with my job, the Jitsu summer school was still a fantastic break from it all. The drive from London was very long and slightly infuriating for the fact that I would have been able to help if my driver’s licence hadn’t been stolen along with half my life in my bag a few weeks earlier. I’ve missed driving, and being unable to contribute just left me feeling anxious and frustrated. Also the available radio stations were kak, and the third passenger Dan was lifting had an aversion to The Cure.

We arrived in good time though, pitying the poor sods yet to leave from London. Had a bit of quiet time, then joined the mad rush up one hill carrying branches, back down it and then up another hill (now in the dark) due to a misunderstanding on where the ‘permitted’ firepits were. I had failed to bring a torch and resorted to having to use my mobile to find my way up and down that evening. In fact at points there were a horde of us stumbling backwards and forwards accompanied by the merry glow of our phones – a fairyland scene accomplished with modern technology and broken by the occasional “Shit, owh!” as feet managed to find what the phones didn’t

It was a great evening getting to know, in majority, the girls and boys from the jujitsu forum I frequent who were along for the weekend. I was exhausted however and after waiting past the point of dignity for someone else to be the first to go to bed I eventually caved. As is the case with these things I’d hardly got down the hill before a substantial portion of the crowd followed, since now they weren’t the official fader. It’s fine, since I believe how to “party all night with the knowledge that you have to get up and face Jitsu in the morning” is something only taught at green belt level (or in varsity clubs.)

The morning dawned far too early for those of us un-used to communal sleeping conditions. Those ‘poor sods’ who left so late from London had decided to make up for lost time on the partying – and not so silently too. On top of that the order of the hour was to get into our bathing costumes and take a plunge into the plunge pool. It was cold. So very very very cold. You became so very very very awake as a result. We’ll call it an ‘experience’.

The jitsu session itself was really interesting, but by that time the combination of the prior few weeks spent in constant stress and my lack of sleep caught up with me and caused a complete sense of humour failure. So after realising for the first time in well, ever, I wasn’t going through a jitsu session with a mad grin plastered to my face and turning my ankle while landing for the third time in ten minutes I decided to sit the last quarter of the session out.

In the afternoon the goal was to climb a mountain. A foolish one for someone with a damaged ankle, but I was in good company what with one of the forum lasses who’d damaged her knee. I never intended to go all the way to the summit, but we’d climb a distance, take a break, with me puffing, panting and eventually declaring “Okay, I’ll go up one more section, just one more, but no further.” Each time.

Eventually I gave up, but after five minutes of admiring the view on my own I noticed that I’d actually done 95% of the climb and it would be pathetic not to finish. It was fantastic to get to the top – although as always, we realised that there was a hell of a lot more mountain off in the distance yet to be climbed (explaining all the seemingly over-kitted people we’d passed going the other way.)

The rest of the weekend was great; I won’t be so quick to join in a game of “I have never…” again, broomstick contortions are still a skill I possess, while dips in ice-cold water may be excruciating, they do do wonders for your bruises and the Lake District is magnificent!

And so shall I end “Holiday Journal Part 1”. Meanwhile in present reality I’m back in Cape Town at home with the family with the intent of getting my CV and portfolio organised and buying a car.

It’s really nice to be home. I get fed, driven around, generally catered to. It’s wonderful. However, the down side is this case of lethargy I get every time I come home. I don’t know what causes it, but one of it’s side effects is it makes me somewhat anti-social. I’ve been here for almost a week and I’ve hardly seen anyone. Admittedly for most of last week I was, as my brother charmingly puts it “The International Plague Monkey” having come down with a case of flu I must have picked up in my last weekend in London which I’m still not entirely over.

I have found a Ju-jitsu class down here, but the sensei is away this week so no session.

On the CV and portfolio side nothing has happened. On the car side, we’re coming along merrily despite the fact that I can’t get a job without a car, I can’t get a car without finance and I can’t get finance without a job…